


Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

by flyingcarpet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Dragons, M/M, Memory Magic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-26
Updated: 2008-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcarpet/pseuds/flyingcarpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So this place is a giant ranch in the middle of an abandoned mine, full of dragons?" "How did you get in here?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to flora for beta-reading, and to femmenerd for giving me the idea to write this pairing in the first place.

"So this place is a giant ranch in the middle of an abandoned mine, full of dragons?"

"How did you get in here?" The guy had red hair and freckles and was pretty hot, in a muscular, blue-jeans-and-healthy-sweat kind of way. If you went for that sort of thing, which Dean totally didn't. Anymore. He also had a British accent, which was not at all sexy. Not even a little.

Dean flashed his fake badge. "My name is Osborne, I'm an investigator from the F.B.I. I just need to ask you a few questions."

"Can I see that?" The guy held out a big, freckled hand for the badge, and Dean handed it over with an inward curse. It was never good when they asked to see it.

Instead of writing down the badge number, though, the guy just looked at it real closely and then muttered a few words under his breath.

He handed it back with an amused look in his brown eyes. "I don't think so," he said.

"Um, a journalist? I'm writing an article on Wyoming ranches and..."

"We're not interested," the guy said firmly. Just then, a massive roar split the air, and Dean actually felt the force of it in his teeth. One of the creatures that Dean had seen in the distance when he hiked in launched itself into the air, and as it grew closer he realized that it was even bigger than he'd first thought.

It was definitely a dragon. It looked like something out of a Chinese engraving, its graceful body twisting and turning in the air, all red scales and enormous teeth. The thing's wingspan had to be thirty feet at least, and when it flapped them and glided on the air, it looked like it was born to fly, never mind the muscular body it was carrying around. Somehow, framed shining red against the endless blue of the Western sky, it looked absolutely natural and beautiful and not a bit out of place.

"Holy... shit," Dean said softly, his head tipped up to the sky. He couldn't take his eyes off the dragon.

"That's about it, yeah," his companion said, sounding amused. Dean was sure there was another unbelievably attractive smile on his face, so he didn't turn and look. He was here on business, and besides, hitting on guys only led to trouble.

In the sky, the dragon turned its head three-quarters toward Dean, almost as if it was posing for him, showing off. There was a low rumbling sound, and then an enormous jet of flame shot out of its nostrils, bright orange and red, and went freewheeling across the sky.

"Holy shit!" Dean said again, glad he hadn't brought the Impala out here into danger and a fiery death. "That thing is dangerous!"

"Her name is Mabel," the guy said, with another one of those smiles. "And we're aware of how dangerous she is. It's why we try to keep people out."

Dean thought of the guy in the local hospital, covered with third-degree burns and blathering about some kind of dragon ranch outside of town.

"And if people get in?" he asked.

"We try to get them to leave before they get hurt, but sometimes we're too late."

The guy's voice was matter-of-fact, but Dean was still a little on edge. He opened his mouth to argue, to try the federal agent angle again, but the guy cut him off.

"Look, I know you're not from the government. Let me guess, you're some kind of freelance cursebreaker? Out to stop rogue dragon-keepers from kidnapping curious young kids and feeding them to the dragons?"

"Um," Dean said. He really didn't like to talk about what he did with strangers, but the guy had pretty much hit the nail on the head. "Yeah, something like that."

"Look," the guy said. "This place is safe, I promise you. We're licensed by your government as a habitat for dangerous beasts, and we take safety precautions. But if Muggles break in here and get into the pens, we can't keep them safe."

It seemed to make sense. Dean wanted it to make sense, but he could hardly wrap his head around it.

"Licensed by the government?" he managed.

"Fish and Wildlife," the guy said with a smile.

Dean looked back to the enormous red beast in the sky, who was now turning somersaults against the backdrop of the fluffy white clouds. "Fish and wildlife," he repeated. Man, this was weirder than that witch doctor in Pacoima. But in a weird way, it seemed to make perfect sense.

"You want the tour?" the guy asked, holding out his arm widely to indicate the ranch.

Dean looked over at him. He was smiling that sexy smile again, and there was a glint in his eye that hinted at good things to come. "I'm Charlie, by the way," he said.

"Dean," he answered, and they shook hands. Charlie's palm was wide and warm and covered with calluses. His grip was firm, and Dean smiled.

"Sure," Dean said. "I'd love to see the place."

Charlie walked him around the ranch, and Dean could see that it looked much like any other ranch, with low housing for the hands and a large main house. There were little paddocks and pens here and there, and the only thing different was the animals that were housed there -- brightly-colored, scaly, broad-winged creatures of all different shapes and sizes and appearances. Charlie seemed knowledgeable about all of them, talking about variations and the care required, and when Dean looked at him as he talked, his face seemed to glow with affection for the enormous fire-breathing monsters.

"And this is where Mabel is kept," Charlie said, as they walked up to a large, empty paddock. "She's the Chinese Fireball you saw earlier."

Dean smiled at the name. "So you brought her over here from China?" he asked.

"She's on loan," Charlie answered. "We sent over a couple of Dakota Longtails in exchange."

Man, this whole place was such a trip.

Charlie leaned against the split-rail fence at the edge of the paddock, muscles flexing under the skin of his scarred forearms, and gazed out over the ranch toward the red dragon flying in the distance. "So what d'you think?" he asked.

"Oh, the place is real nice," Dean said, stepping up to the rail next to Charlie, intentionally just a little too close for friendly conversation. "I like it."

Charlie's face was close enough to touch, to lean in and press a kiss to his full lips, to take them between his teeth and bite down, but Dean held back and played it slow. This was where he always got in trouble, and even if all signs said Charlie wanted it, there was no guarantee he wanted it here and now, out in the open in the place where he lived and worked.

"Dean..." Charlie said, sounding a little regretful. For a second Dean thought maybe he was going to get turned away. "Listen, this place is top secret, all right?"

Oh, well if that was all. Everything Dean dealt with on a daily basis was secret in some way or other. "Hell, who'd believe me?" he asked, and it seemed to be the right answer, because Charlie's face creased into a smile, flashing white teeth in his tanned, freckled face.

Dean stayed right where he was, not moving an inch, and Charlie leaned forward and pressed his lips against Dean's, warm and soft. Dean opened his mouth and took one of Charlie's lips between his own, dragging his teeth across it like he'd been wanting to do for at least an hour now.

Charlie made a sound deep in his throat, and it sent shivers down Dean's spine.

On the fence rail, Charlie's hand covered Dean's own, and his fingers wrapped around Dean's palm and gripped, squeezing hard. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard, and Dean was already fighting to control himself. Charlie's eyes were wide with pleasure, but then he looked around the ranch. The place was wide open, broad and flat under the sky, all laid out so that a person could see for miles.

"Come here," Charlie said, his voice husky. He dropped Dean's hand, but led the way to a small building nearby.

When he opened the door, Dean could see it was a tack shed, rows of supplies hung neatly on hooks and stacked against the walls. He followed Charlie inside, and as soon as the door was shut Charlie was on him, his lips crushing Dean's in a hungry kiss and his body pushing him toward the empty back wall of the shed.

Dean stumbled backwards, his feet falling over one another as he struggled to do five things at once, his lips and teeth and tongue moving against Charlie's, shoulders shrugging out of his leather jacket, hands pulling Charlie's shirt out of his jeans, fingers searching out hot skin under layers of fabric. His back hit the wall hard, and knocked the air out of his lungs, and Dean cursed, gasping for air and not getting enough, spreading his hands across Charlie's back as if the skin contact would help him breathe.

Charlie's hands gripped Dean's shoulders, hard, and his body pressed against Dean's from knee to shoulder. He was all muscle, broader than Dean and a little shorter, and as Dean leaned his head back against the wall, Charlie pressed his mouth to Dean's throat and sucked, tracing his teeth over the sensitive skin at his collarbone and sending more shockwaves through Dean's body.

Through two layers of blue jeans, Dean could feel Charlie's cock pressing into his hip, hard and insistent just like the rest of Charlie. Dean pushed his hips up, arching in closer and creating a friction between their bodies.

Charlie shifted over an inch, and they struggled against each other, gasping and swearing, cocks were lined up through the thick fabric. Dean still couldn't catch his breath, and his arms were full of sweaty, muscular Englishman, his cock pressed against a warm, moving body. Once this would've been enough to get him off already, hot and sticky in his jeans, but he was too old for that now and the rough fabric was beginning to hurt, rubbing against his sensitive skin.

He wanted more, so he reached his hands around between their bodies, searching for and finding the buttons to Charlie's jeans, opening them and freeing Charlie's erection first, fisting it in one hand as he ripped his own pants open, thanking God and Levi Strauss for the invention of the button fly.

Charlie must've felt the same way, because he'd buried his head in Dean's shoulder now, mouth pressed against Dean's favorite black t-shirt, cursing quietly into the fabric.

Dean pushed his jeans down off his hips, just far enough to get his dick out and press it to Charlie's, his hand wrapping loosely around them both and pressing them against each other. One big hand joined Dean's, and their fingers laced together. Dean arched and shifted, moving to set up a rhythm, and Charlie moved against him, more like a fight or a struggle than the slippery-smooth and graceful motions of fucking a woman. This was bare skin against skin, muscle and denim and the scents of sweat and leather in the air, Charlie's voice cursing low and rough in his ear, scars and teeth and hunger and want.

Pleasure shot up and down Dean's spine, and his nipples ached as they rubbed against the fabric of his t-shirt. He was almost painfully hard, rubbing against Charlie's cock and against both palms, only the weak moisture of their sweaty palms and precome softening the friction. Pleasure was building and building, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"C'mere," he growled, and leaned down to capture Charlie's mouth in another kiss. His mouth was hot and wet, and Charlie leaned up into it eagerly, as if he was in as much of a rush as Dean was.

Dean grabbed Charlie's ass with one hand, squeezing firmly and pulling him closer. Their bodies were pressed together as close as they could get with their clothes still in the way, creating a weird friction against Dean's skin. In his hand and Charlie's, their erections struggled together, and Dean could hardly tell which was which, he was so overwhelmed with sensation. His cock was hard and leaking, the feelings of heat and skin and want growing in him, pleasure pooling in his belly, in his dick and his balls, threatening to explode at any moment.

Charlie's mouth on his was what sent him over the edge, hot and wet and eager and one more sensation on top of everything else, just the last thing that was too much to handle, too much and just enough all at once. Dean gasped and choked and groaned as he thrust through it, pleasure exploding behind his eyeballs like the dragon's fireball in the sky.

Charlie was whimpering in his arms, saying "oh fuck yeah, that, there, now," and Dean could see he was close. He slicked his palm with his own come and grasped Charlie's cock, jerking once and twice before Charlie went silent for the first time and gasped out his climax against Dean's neck.

He went limp in Dean's arms, and Dean relaxed back against the wall, thankful he had it to support him because he might not be able to stand on his own after that.

"Thanks, mate," Charlie said, breath warm through the fabric of Dean's favorite black t-shirt. "I needed that."

Sweat cooling on his skin, hand sticky with come, his cock softening between his legs and the body of someone he'd just met resting bonelessly in his arms, Dean had to laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Me too. Thanks."

Charlie pressed a sleepy-soft kiss to his lips, dry and chaste this time, and then pulled away without shame or bashfulness to pull his jeans on. He tossed Dean a rag, and Dean wiped his hand and got dressed. He followed Charlie out of the shed, grabbing his jacket on the way.

When they stepped out of the door, Charlie stopped to lock it behind them. Mabel was back in the paddock, big black doe-like eyes set in a shiny red face. She gave Dean a long, knowing look, and Dean grinned and winked at her, feeling a calm, soothing warmth spreading throughout his body.

"Let me get you to your car," Charlie said, and Dean didn't ask how he knew, just walked side-by-side with him off the edge of the ranch to where the Impala was parked in a little grove of oak trees.

At the car they stopped, a little awkward. Dean shifted from foot to foot, grinning, still filled with post-coital endorphins.

"Listen, Dean," Charlie said, that note of regret in his voice again. "Listen, I--"

Dean opened his mouth to say something, the kind of words he sometimes used on girls, the kind of lies and reassurances he hadn't thought he'd need with a guy, with this guy, but Charlie spoke first.

"I'm sorry about this, Dean," he said. Then, " _Obliviate_."

 

When Dean got back to the motel, Sam was there, hunched over his laptop with books open all around him. "Did you find anything out?" he asked.

"What?" Dean shook his head to clear it a little, trying to remember what he'd seen. He could recall Charlie's broad, smiling face and eager hands, his hungry mouth and the empty tack room. About the ranch itself, all he could remember was the empty paddocks and the way it spread out under the open sky, everything visible for miles. In his mind's eye, he could see a flash of red, but then it was gone too quickly to grasp.

"I didn't see anything," he told Sam. "Nothin' out there to see, just a ranch like any other ranch. So what'd you find at the library?"


End file.
